


The Nurse and the Pilot

by QueenoftheHobbits



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-14 16:10:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15392478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenoftheHobbits/pseuds/QueenoftheHobbits
Summary: Requested by anon on tumblr: Can you do an imagine where the reader is a nurse and meets Collins on leave and they meet again on the Moonstone. And at the train station they kiss. And At the end of the war he surprises at her home. (Sorry for being so long)





	The Nurse and the Pilot

You greatly enjoyed your time off, as much as being a nurse was rewarding, it was also incredibly hard. The nursing corps was often put into uncomfortable if not dangerous situations behind the lines and you had seen your fair share of blood shed already only a year into the war. You needed the reprieve of leave, you needed to get away from the smell and sight of blood, needed to finally get away from being stuck inside hospital ships. So leave in London? That was most welcome. 

“We should go dancing!” You glance over at Marie as you’re re-pinning your hair, after a long day of exploring London. Marie is a bubbly blonde, rather tall, and rather happy woman, one you enjoy working alongside because of her constant optimism and her ability to make the bleakest days seem bright. 

“We’ve walked all day...are you sure you want to go dancing on top of that?” You know the answer. Marie always wanted to go dancing, when you were stuck on a ship or at a field hospital she talked so fondly of dance halls, of being twirled about by whoever wanted a dance. She loved dancing. You liked it as well, the live music, the jovial atmosphere, the company. It was always nice to dance the night away even if your feet were tired. 

“Yes! Oh, please! Please can we go?!” 

“Fine, fine! Just...let me get into a nicer dress.” 

You’d found quite a few dance halls wandering the city and one just a few streets down from the hotel the two of you were staying in for your leave, having pooled your money together for a room. As the two of you approached it arm in arm it was very obvious that it was a  _very_ popular dance hall, the music poured out from the doors and couples and groups moved in and out of it at a steady pace. 

The two of you made your way inside, pleased to see so many dancing couples, to hear familiar music played by the band, to see the warm lights and the uniforms. After so long without leave it was like coming home, to see the joy, to hear the music, to smell the mixing of perfumes, to see couples dancing. 

“Table first or dancing?” The question is answered by Marie grabbing your hand and pulling you onto the dance floor, the two of dancing like fools rather than trying for anything serious. While Marie smiles almost always, when she dances her smile is more genuine.

“I’ve missed this!” 

The two of you dance for a few more turns until a handsome man asks to dance with Marie and you let her go to make your way to one of the few empty tables around. It is as you sit there, glancing around the room, smiling at dancing couples, and laughing friends, that you realise you’re being stared at. 

The man in question darts his gaze away the moment he realises you’ve caught him staring and even across the room you can make out the red blush filling his cheeks. He is dressed in the blue of the RAF, blonde hair, clean shaven like most in the military. He is handsome, that is a fact, one you can’t deny and you’re flattered at the gaze. 

You smile at him as he returns his eyes to you, you hope its encouraging, that he’ll come over. You see his friend lean over and talk to him, giving him a pat on the back before leaving him to ask someone to dance. Between the time that you glance away to make sure that Marie is alright, which she is, and the time you look back in his direction the handsome man is making his way over to you, politely moving through the bodies of dancing couples that separate you. 

You try not to be too presumptuous and stay seated rather than standing to meet him, after all he could be looking at someone behind you or nearby and it would be incredibly embarrassing to stand to meet him only for him to walk past you. But he doesn’t walk past you, he stops in front of you, hands folded behind his back, eyes nervous. 

“I...” He coughs nervously and you smile at him, hoping it will reassure him that he doesn’t need to be nervous. “Me name’s Jack Collins.” His Scottish accent is there, but not the thickest you’ve heard and you stand to reach out for his extended hand.

“Y/N Y/LN. It’s nice to meet you, Jack.” You expect him to shake your hand, that appeared to be the intention when he reached his hand out, but once yours is fitted in his he instead chooses to raise to his mouth and place a kiss on the back of your hand. It takes you back for a moment, and you feel rather giddy at the action which is both endearing, sweet, and overwhelming. 

“Would ye like ta dance?” His cheeks are still rather red and its rather sweet how nervous he was to ask you to dance, it was nice to meet a handsome man who wasn’t arrogant, who didn’t assume you’d say yes.

“I’d like that very much.” 

You let him grasp your hand and lead you to an open space on the dance floor. Let him place one hand on your waist and keep the other in yours, as your free hand reaches his shoulder. The music has changed pace, slower now, a song you think you remember hearing Anne Shelton sing, but you can’t be sure. He is a calm, easy dancer, his feet don’t trip over yours or step on them, he doesn’t need to watch his feet and can instead focus his bright blue gaze your own.

“So, what de ya do? For a livin’ I mean.” You understand his awkwardness, its rather hard to start a conversation with a stranger. 

“I’m a nurse with the nursing corps.” 

“Hard work, why’d ye decide to sign up?” You let yourself shift closer to Collins, swaying with him to the music as you talk quietly together. 

“I wanted to help, like everyone else. Why did you join the RAF?” 

“I was always fascinated with flying...so I joined up and then this bloody war started an...well, here I am.” The was often the general sentiment many expressed, that everything had been jolly until the war decide to start up. At the same time you knew everyone was committed to the war, that they were aware of why they were fighting. 

“You’re a pilot then?” 

“Spitfires.” You smile at that, the sound of a spitfire had reached you many times in the war and even you could admit it was a beautiful sound...even if the job of flying them was dangerous and you were sure sometimes unrewarding. 

“Dangerous job.”

“I could say the same for ye.”

“Touche.”  The two of you talk and dance to song after song. You learn he grew up in Stirling, that he was an only child, that his friend also is a pilot. You learn the little things and the big things and the more the two of you talk the more relaxed you feel, the more endeared you are towards him, the more you start to wonder if this’ll be the only time you’ll see him. 

It is not until you realise that Marie has left the dance hall as have many others that you realise that the two of you are some of the last there and that it is in fact rather late. 

“I should get back to my hotel, it was lovely dancing with you, Jack.” You started to pull away from you him, rather reluctant, but aware that each night, each day always has to end. 

“Can I walk ye back? Its dark out and...and i’d rather ye not walk alone.” You can sense that he’d accept a no, that he’d understand if you were uncomfortable with that. But you genuinely don’t want to walk alone in the dark, and you get the feeling that Jack Collins is a wholly good man. You’ve always trusted your gut.

“I’d appreciate that.” You take the arm offered to you, slipping yours through the crook of his elbow and leading him out and in the direction of your hotel. Its not far, but you know you’d feel more uncomfortable had you been making the journey on your own this late at night.

“When does your leave end?”

“I’ve got ta be on a train tomorrow morning.” 

“Oh...” Its hard to truly fathom why you’re so disappointed that his leave ends so soon, especially when you’ve only know each other a few hours. But its clear that Jack Collins has made an impact on you and that you’d like to remain around him a little longer. 

You don’t ask him if you can write to him as you reach the front of the hotel, you’re not sure you know him well enough to ask and you think if its meant to be you’ll meet again at some point. So instead you thank him for walking you back and wish him luck, tell him to be safe, and return to your room, where Marie is already sat waiting to discuss the night with you. 

* * *

 

The weeks following your meeting with Jack Collins see you moved from field hospital to field hospital in Europe as the Germans slowly pen you all in, its not until you’re sat on Dunkirk beach with your fellow nurses and doctors that you really realise just how badly you’d all be corralled. You’re not just stuck on any beach, with a few nurses, the whole bloody Army is stuck on this beach and there’s nowhere to go except out to sea. Except its not that simple.  

The nurses, are however, the first to be put on ships. Each ship takes a few more until you’re being taken out to sea and find yourself transferred from the smaller ship to a destroyer. You know you should stay below deck, tend to any injuries or illnesses, but something about being so trapped doesn’t sit well with you right now...its not until you’re a long way from the coast, sat in the middle of the English Channel that you understand why your gut had been telling you not to go under. 

Its one thing to be atop deck as a ship sinks, as another destroyer sinks, it would have been another thing entirely to be trapped inside it. You do your best to help who you can out, opening watertight doors, pulling men up stairs, but eventually there’s not much you can do, but try to swim in heavy skirts and impractical clothing. 

There is only one real destination at that point, a little pleasure yacht bobbing along towards you all, you’re almost sure you’ll drown before reaching it, your skirts restricting your movements, your body tired, but just as your head is about to slip below the water from fatigue, hands lift you up underneath your arms and drag you on deck.  

“Y/N?” Its your name being called by a familiar accent that has you focusing your eyes and looking upwards, only to see a familiar pair of blue eyes, wet, swept blonde hair, and a confused furrow of a brow. 

“Jack?”

You let him help you sit up, your uniform is soaked through and incredibly heavy, no wonder you were struggling to stay afloat and swim in it.

He looks the same, except wetter and perhaps more tired, but he really hasn’t changed all that much. Despite the circumstances you’re rather glad to see him, a familiar face, a reassuring face, at a time that is honestly perhaps the most terrifying and worrisome of your existence. 

“What are ye doin’ here?”

“We got stuck...at Dunkirk, the ship it...” You put your head in your hands for a moment, trying to come to terms with the fact the destroyer you were just on has sunk, that not many men have made it out, barely any to the yacht. A dozen maybe a little more. But not many. If you had stayed below deck...you don’t want to think what that could mean. You’re just glad Marie had been kept in England on a base there...God. 

You feel a hand on your shoulder and look up at him, “Why are you here?”

“I had ta bail out...nearly drowned, if it weren’t for these chaps.” You follow his gesturing hand to the sight of an older man and a young boy both in civilian uniform. You assume the yacht belongs to them. You just glad that he’s okay, that despite his terribly dangerous job, he’d made it out alright...for now.

The moment the boy notices you you realise something must be wrong. Its not long after that that you find yourself below deck trying to treat a boy with a severe head injury without proper medical supplies.

You’re not sure how you keep him alive long enough for you to reach the English coast, for him to be placed on a stretcher and carted away to the nearest hospital. But you manage it and it lightens the heaviness you feel somewhat. 

* * *

 

If there are two things you’ve gotten dreadfully used to during a year of war time, its train stations and saying goodbye. Each new order finds you placed on another train and each time you say goodbye to fellow nurses, family members, friends. Each time you find yourself placed with strangers who you’ll eventually have to say goodbye to as well. 

Standing there next to Jack Collins, waiting to be taken to your next destination, to board a train going in the opposite direction to his, it isn’t the hardest goodbye you’ve ever had to say...because all goodbyes are hard. You’re not sure what to say to man you’re rather endeared to, a man who you sat with on a Yacht for several hours, a man who reassured you that you could look after George, that you were a good nurse, a man who was a brilliant dancer and incredibly kind. 

“Can I write to ye? I...after everythin’ I don’t really want ta...ta lose contact with ye. Again.” You share the sentiment. You’re rather attached considering you’ve only met him twice, but you think it would be a shame to...to never see him again.

“Of course, do you...do you have a bit of paper? A pencil?” He doesn’t, you watch him scramble around the station asking people if they had either or both of those items, its nearly time for you to board your train when he finally procures them, a red flush to his cheeks.

“Here.” You take the pencil and the scrape of paper writing down both your home address and the base to which you were about to be stationed at for however long. 

“I’m going to miss you, Jack Collins.”

“I’m going to miss ye too.” The two of you stand in silence for a few moments, the sounds of the station taking over, the clamour of men boarding trains, doors opening and closing, whistles blowing. “May I...may I kiss ye?”

“Please.” Perhaps had your second meeting not including nearly drowning, spending hours together, and finding support in him, you might have said no. But it had and you so desperately wanted to know what it felt like to be kissed by him before you were forced to board your train and leave him behind. 

His lips are chapped and a little cracked, so are yours you’re sure after falling in the water in the middle of May and spending quite a few hours cold and damp. But he’s soft and gentle as he presses them against yours, moving in a way that is almost comforting, its like he doesn’t want to shock you or be too forward, like he’s trying for what might be the most tender kiss you’ve ever experienced. There is no overbearing need, no tongue, no pressure or force, its sweet, gentle, a little hesitant and it makes your eyes close.

It makes your forehead press against his as your lips pull apart, makes your smile curl. You want to stay there, but the shrill sound of a whistle lets you know you have mere minutes to climb aboard your train so you pull away from him and begin walking backwards.

“Write to me?”

“Of course.” You don’t doubt that he will as you board the train and watch him from the window, until the station is long behind you and he’s no longer in sight. It’s going to be a long old war, that much is certain, but maybe something good can come out of it?

* * *

 

A week after the war ends you find yourself back in your own home, the little house had been rather empty with you constantly away with the corps, and it had taken hours to simply dust the whole place after such a long time stagnant. But it was still your home, still the same furniture, little trinkets, not much, but enough to make it yours.

It was a relief to simply be back home, to not be sharing a building with 10 other women or sleeping on the floor of a hospital. To actually be back home, in your own bed, with your own little luxuries and comforts...that was something else entirely. 

The moment you’d returned home you’d written Jack a letter, letting him know that you no longer were at the base, that his letters could be sent here instead. Five more years of war and each one had held countless letters written back and forth between the two of you, even when you were moved from the home front to France, to Belgium, even to Austria. The two of you still found a way to write letters. Each one made you fall in love with him. The few times your leave coincided you found yourself even more enamoured with him, letting him take you dancing, out to dinner. The relationship you cultivated in 1940 was hard to maintain long distance, but worth it...and with the war over you couldn’t help but think of all the time you’d get to spend with him.

You’d been sorting out your washing, after all most of your clothes needed a wash having spent years in a musty wardrobe, when there was a knock at your door. 

You folded the shirt in your hands, placing it back down on your bed before making your way down the stairs and to the front door. You thought that it was perhaps your family, after all you’d barely seen them in the few weeks you’d been back and years worth of separation were hard on them. 

It wasn’t. You stood stock still and surprised in the door way, one hand holding the open door, the other limp at your side. 

There were so many people who you might have expected to see; friends, family, neighbours, fellow nurses...but Jack Collins? You hadn’t discussed him coming to see you, or meeting with the war over, the both of you had been so busy with dealing with the fact your jobs, once so war based, were now rather different. You hadn’t thought he’d have the time.

“Hi.”

“What are you...what are you doing here?” You don’t mean it to come out negative in anyway, you’re surprised. That doesn’t mean that you’re not rather happy to see him, because you are...because it has been at least a year since you last saw him, since you’re last leave and with the war over...seeing him again was one of your biggest desires.

You watch his brow furrow and you quickly try to correct your startled words, “Not that...not that i’m not happy to see you, Jack...I just, I wasn’t expecting you? I thought you were still at base?”

“I got transferred nearby. I...I wanted to come see ye.” At his sincere answer you reach out and grab his hand, holding it, rubbing your thumb across the back of it reassuringly before smiling at him and pulling him inside. 

“Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Yes, please.” You gesture for him to sit down on your settee, before making your way to your kitchen, placing the kettle on the stove. Leaving it to boil, you return to the living room, taking a seat beside him.

“I am happy to see you. I hope you know that, I just...I wasn’t prepared to see you on the other side of my door. But, I’m really happy to see you. I love you.”

“Ye didn’t change ye mind then?” You know its supposed to be a joke, but you can also sense a genuine concern that now the war is over you might have changed your mind. Which you certainly had not. You still loved him as much as the first time you told him.

You reach out and place your hand on his cheek, turning him to look at you. Rubbing your thumb across his cheek bone. “I love you and that hasn’t changed, not since we first started writing letters. I want to be with you. Especially now we can. I don’t want you to ever doubt that.”

You watch him lean into your palm, smiling over at you. You’ll never get over how sweet his smile is, how blue his eyes were, “I love you too...”

You’re pulled from your moment by the whistling of the kettle, but you both know that this isn’t over. That the two of you could be a proper couple now, now that you weren’t at war, in different parts of the world, dealing with all the issues that your jobs came with. Now you could just be a boy and girl in love.


End file.
